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He reaches for my hand. “Or?”
“Or we don’t hide what we’re doing. But in public, and only in public, we tone down this part.” I nod to where he’s now holding my hand in both of his. “I don’t care if they think we’re hooking up. If it looks like we’re having some kind of summer fling.”
One heavy blond brow lifts.
“So, I can give you all the fuck-me eyes I want?”
I nod, feeling my heart speed up. “Oh yeah.”
“Drag you out of parties before they’re over…”
“Before they’ve even started.”
“Buy lube in bulk…”
I cough out a laugh, pushing my dick down. Not that it does much good when he closes the distance between us, brushing my hand aside to replace it with his. “Not sure Dean’s Pharmacy carries it in bulk.”
“I’ll order online.”
I grab him by the back of the head with one hand and pull him in for a hard kiss, while the other slides into his boxers to stroke him.
God, I want him. Everything.
Just so long as it doesn’t look like we’re falling in love. Because when he’s gone, it’s going to be painful enough for me to deal with the fact that I already have.
Chapter Eight
TREVOR
I was joking about the lube. Mostly.
We both had some on hand and, even though we haven’t actually gone there, when we used it up this morning… I realized I really was going to have to make an emergency run to the pharmacy for more.
Not going to lie though, there is a thirty-two-ounce pump bottle sitting in my Prime cart, and over the past week I’ve come within a heartbeat of clicking the purchase button more than once. The only thing that’s keeping me from doing it is that I don’t want to be a pushy motherfucker. I don’t want Cam thinking I need us to take that last step.
Because maybe it’s the line we don’t cross for a reason.
I mean, yeah, there’s something about Cam that begs me to go all in. Even knowing we can’t be anything more than temporary, every time I see this guy, my heart feels like it’s trying to tear down my ribs to get to him.
Holding back is a challenge I wasn’t expecting, but this one emotional discretion matters to him. So I fight the impulse to bring Cam a coffee every single morning and park myself on the couch in front of the bass-fishing show with all the geezers just so I can be close to him throughout the day. Watch as he stocks shelves and helps customers in his hot-as-hell Outfitters T-shirt. Ask him to show me how to hold my rod when he goes on break.
Ugh.
I’ve been good. All week. Which is why the second his truck pulled to a stop in front of my place last night? Yeah, the poor guy didn’t even have a chance to turn the engine off before I had his door open and was hauling him out.
Demanding a reward for my restraint— and a reward is exactly what having him breathless above me, his fingers knotted in my hair as he comes deep in my throat, is.
So hot.
Not what I need to be thinking about standing in line behind my old lunch lady at Dean’s.
“Gulls, thought that was you.”
I turn, finding Neil beside me, eying my not-fooling-anyone bottle of Scope, bag of jerky, and generously sized but no thirty-two-ounce container of lube in my basket.
Not embarrassed. We’re all adults here.
“Hey, Watson. Good to see you again.” Neil was at the bar the other night when we met up with a bunch of the water polo players from Cam’s team. Not that I had much of a chance to catch up with him, the way he and Judy were huddled together in a corner like they were the only ones left on the planet.
